Pride of Wolves
by Zen Lon
Summary: Isa Steeltooth, the last descendant of the mighty Steeltooth clan must take over her father's lead. The last bastion of the wolves has fallen to a traitor, as the Horde under command of Ackbain prepares to plunge all the world into war.
1. Passing the Torch

**Pride of Wolves**

**Chapter 1: Passing of the Torch**

Isa Steeltooth, daughter of the clan master, Rokan Steeltooth, of the Steeltooth tribe sat in her father's tent, as he lay close to death. He was countless seasons old, but even in his old age; his heart was strong as ever. His eyes opened slightly, still gray as the clouds, they refused to close, as he fought his greatest battle of all time. They had been called by the northern tribe to help increase their forces, as their castle was under siege by a legion of vermin. The battle was won, but at a terrible price.

"Isa?" Rokan asked.

"Father I'm here," Isa said, walking over and standing beside his bed. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"My time has come," he said softly, "I have trained you as best as I could, let the seasons be kind on you."

"Father!" Isa shouted.

"Take, my blades. Wear them with pride. You shall lead the clan now," Rokan said, and then his eyes closed. He had lost his battle. Isa wiped away her tears quickly; she had to be strong for her tribe. The last war had left their race severely depleted, and wolves were now in shorter numbers. Her tribe, had to survive. Standing back up, she walked over to her father's armor pedestal. Although even as aged as he was, his armor was far too large for her. But she had trained on his katars all her life, and they felt familiar in her paws.

"Isa? Your father?" Grae Fenlorn stepped into the tent, looking at Isa

"He is gone Grae," Isa replied. Grae looked forlorn, but knelt as customary to his new clan leader.

"My life is yours Isa," he said. He offered his sword, paw on the hilt, the other grasping the blade, the symbol of the passing of the torch. Isa touched the hilt and nodded, walking into the dull morning sunlight of the frozen north. The site of her entire command, six score wolves, the toughest fighters of the north greeted her with sad eyes.

"Isa? Is it true? Has Rokan gone to Dark Forest?" one of her sergeants, Yuta Aino asked.

"Yes. Rokan has left us. But we will not break in spirit. Already I can smell the movement of vermin against us. We need to flee the north and head south away from them," Isa said.

"We should stay and fight them. Fight them to the last and give the others a chance," Urukja, one of her most valuable lieutenants shouted, arousing cheers from the rest of her clan, but she silenced it with a wave of her paw.

"I know, you are all very anxious to avenge our brothers and sisters. But now is not the time. Our people are numbered, we have to leave now, we will fight again, but not today," Isa shouted.

"But what about honor?" Urukja demanded.

"We have our honor. We killed 40,000 vermin out of 120,000 when we were outnumbered nearly 20 to 1. There is a time for vengeance, and there is a time for pride, but not now. We have to live," Isa said, damn their pride.

"We will follow," Captain Juna Nalin shouted, over the others voices, she was known for her wisdom and strength, and the clan trusted her, "Isa is right. She maybe young, but she is wise enough to know, we cannot throw away our lives so carelessly."

"Where will we go?" Urukja asked.

"We will go to a place where they will not find us. We head south. Prepare our fleets. We're going home," Isa said.

* * *

Ackbain sniffed the air. It chilled his nostrils but he caught the scent he was searching for. The one downfall of having a vast vermin army was that they slowed him down. But it didn't matter. His forces made up for it in sheer numbers and strength. He laughed to himself. His army was so fearsome it forced the wolves of the fabled fortress Valhalla flee the north. But it was not enough to satisfy his thirst for vengeance. The wolves would pay for kicking him out of that castle.

"Sire. Tracks show they are moving south," one of his loyal wolf captains, Shuni Hans reported.

"I know that. Summon the horde. Prepare them to move," Ackbain shouted.

"But sire. The Horde is tired from our battle. They do not have our combat endurance," Shuni said.

"Then they will learn to be like wolves. Move them out now," Ackbain shouted. Shuni bowed his head. What had he done deserting Isa. His cowardice haunted him, but Ackbain was his brother, and he was sworn to follow. He nodded to the elite guard of wolves, who served as the Horde's captains and sergeants each one commanding a legion of 20,000.

Slowly, the mass of vermin began moving, ever so slowly while Ackbain and his chosen warriors sprinted off ahead, their speed was unmatched. I'm coming for you Isa, Ackbain thought to himself, you will be mine.

* * *

Deep within the famed Salamandastron Mountain, Lord Thulnor struck a mighty hammer blow to his weapon. A mighty sword, its brother, which he had already completed, was hanging on pegs against the wall. Both swords were one handed, with a waving blade that look like the ocean waves, which snaked up into a single point. Its blades were beaten, not sharpened, and it was folded against itself many times, making it stronger. Thulnor was known as the only badger lord to have ever been strong enough to wield two such mighty blades at once.

Inspecting his weapon, he struck it a few more times on the edges. Satisfied he plunged it into the water drum, listening to the hiss of the metal cooling rapidly as the water boiled, taking into it, and the heat of his formidable weapon. Making sure it was sufficiently cooled, he pulled the other sword he had already completed off the peg and felt both of their balances. He gripped them tightly in his paws, and tested their strength, finally satisfied with his craft; he inserted both, into solid steel sheaths.

"Sire. The others have gotten quite hungry sah waiting for you to come to suppa," Major Sandsort, one of Thulnor's garrison commanders reported, his ears on end, as he struck fine military pose.

"You gluttons. You've already started haven't you," Thulnor growled, his bass voice reverberating inside his forge.

"How'd you know sah?" Sandsort asked.

"I can smell the jam from pie on your whiskers major," Thulnor smiled.

"Apologies sah, won't happen again sah," Sandsort saluted, "but the pie was quite delicious wot."

"You save some for me?" Thulnor asked.

"Of course sire. Why wouldn't we," Sandsort chuckled.

"I don't know. You tell me," Thulnor asked. Sandsort nodded; then his eyes fell on the two swords hanging against the forge wall. They looked fearsome, each one almost taller than the young hare.

"Mighty big cobs you got there. Bet that'd slice up vermin nice and neat wot," Sandsort chuckled. With one swift movement, Thulnor unsheathed one of the blades, and in less than a fraction of the same second, the tip of the blade was pointed directly at the young hare's nose.

"I bet it does," Thulnor growled.

"Sharp too," Sandsort gulped. Then Thulnor burst out laughing.

"I'm just messin with ya," he chuckled, and sheathed the blade, "lead the way to supper young one."

"Right tis way oh so powerful one," Sandsort nearly hopped. Thulnor paused before exiting his forge. He sniffed the air, and sighed heavily.

"Somtin wrong sah?" Sandsort asked.

"Nothing young one," Thulnor replied. He sighed once more. The peaceful times had ended. On the wind, Thulnor smelled the coming, of war.


	2. A Warrior Born

**Chapter 2: Warrior Born**

Hale Twitch sat under a russet apple tree in the main courtyard of Redwall abbey. The wind floated on a gentle breeze, passing over the calm spring afternoon. His whiskers twitched slightly as he sniffed the air and smiled to himself. Food was almost ready. Content with his small recluse with nature, he found himself following his nose towards the renowned abbey kitchens to maybe snag an early snack.

"Hale Twitch!" a voice snapped the once serene air, as Hale stood stock-still. Like a typhoon in the middle of winter, Jess Twitch charged into the fray as though in the heat of battle, tweaking one of Hale's long squirrel ears.

"Ouch mum! What I do this time?" the young squirrel demanded.

"What do you think? Playing with the sword of Martin again!" Jess said.

"How'd chu know? Wait a minute. Sara!" Hale shouted, but was quickly silenced again with a quick squeeze to his ear.

"Your sister did the right thing. You however young sir, off to the kitchen to help with dinner," Jess said, and released her iron grip on his ear. Hale grumbled to himself, but knew he had done something wrong. He wasn't a bad squirrel, just misguided. But somehow he didn't understand why he was so drawn to the sword. As he walked off Jess smiled to herself.

"Ma? Aren't chu gonna gib him a baf for bein so bad?" little Sara asked.

"Look at him Sara," Jess said, "he walks just like his father. A true warrior born."

"Wat dat mean ma?" Sara asked again, tugging on Jess's dress hem.

"Nothing. Go and get yourself cleaned up for dinner," Jess said. Hale cursed all the way to the kitchen. Then again he was wrong for playing with Martin's sword, but he didn't understand why he was so attracted to it. It felt right in his paws, comfortable, and reassuring. As though somehow he was meant to wield it. Hale looked at his paws, remembering how well the sword fit into them, how strong he felt while holding the sword. He waved this aside, now was not the time to be worrying about such trivial matters.

* * *

Ackbain came to a halt at Stone's ridge. Out of all the frozen northern wasteland, Stone's ridge was made completely out of rock, and ran straight into the foundation of the icy tundra. He looked back at the masses of vermin moving towards him. They were too slow. Too slow for the type of hunting he was used to.

"Shuni!" Ackbain barked. Shuni sprinted up to the lead, and then took a knee.

"Yes my lord," Shuni asked.

"What are you doing brother," Ackbain asked, looking at Shuni wonderingly.

"Sire?" Shuni asked.

"We are brothers. Brothers do not bow to each other," Ackbain said, there was no jest in his voice. It was the same cold; chiseled voice he always spoke in, without feeling, without emotion, without anything.

"I am sorry brother," Shuni answered. Ackbain merely shook his head.

"We rest here. Rally all the captains to me," Ackbain ordered, "and have one of the vermin pitch our tents on this ridge." Within a few minutes, the entire army was camped, and Ackbain's tent was set on the very top of Stone's ridge.

"What is the purpose of this meeting my lord?" Ackbain's first captain, Nuto Enerva asked.

"The Horde is slowing us down. I need to split our forces. You are my captains, and will each take your entire command. We will split at Atulla's peak," Ackbain said. He pulled a map and indicated the great mountain.

"How many groups sire?" his second captain, Hinae Itora asked.

"4 groups. I will go alone with Shuni. Everyone else will take 20,000. Spread out along this region. There are two fortresses to worry about. The first is less of a challenge. Nuto, Hinae will meet here at the corsair fortress running along the coast. Ask them for information then destroy it and recruit what warriors you can," Ackbain answered.

"What shall we do," his third captain, Jineru Qu asked.

"You, and Losa Oton will split up at Rarai ridge. You will wait there for two days for Nuto, who will bring his command to meet you. I will meet both of your forces here. Salamandastron. The fire mountain said to have a large garrison of fighting hares led by a single badger lord. The warriors of Salamandastron have always had friendly relations with Valhalla. No doubt they will have information," Ackbain explained.

"We are ready then sire. We leave as soon as you give us the word," Jineru said, thumping a paw against his armored chest. Ackbain's allowed a quick grin.

"We leave at day break tomorrow. Make sure your respective forces are prepared. Tomorrow, we begin our conquest of this entire land," Ackbain said, "then, I will have my revenge."

"What about Redwall brother?" Shuni asked, pointing at the map.

"Redwall will wait. Redwall is the prize, and I am sure we will find Isa at that place. When we do, we will raze it to the ground," Ackbain said. There were no hoots of fervor, no shouts of approval. Just simply nods of determination sufficed amongst the wolves. They were warriors born, warrior raised, and warriors to the death. Honed to the very pinnacle of their fighting capability, they were constantly in a mind set of focus, and there was no need for bloodlust when always an eternal warrior.

* * *

Itchita Noras was a lone soul. He had never belonged to a clan, tribe, or garrison, but was deadly enough in his own right. His weapons consisted of two sabers, and a single bow, with arrows fletched from the feathers of a hawk. Captured from his family in a vermin woods raid, he was taken to a vermin fortress under the whip of a ferret known only as Kahn. Kahn had admired his strength and fighting capabilities even as a young beast, and had trained him, branding him on his left arm with the seal of his legions. Two crossed swords over a single spear on the right arm.

However Kahn could never control Itchita, and soon Itchita split from the warlord, killing him and all his legions in one night. He left the fortress liberating the prisoners but seldom spoke a word after the incident. He never found his family in all his seasons, and had become a simple wandering warrior driven only to one the one purpose of killing vermin. Standing on a large hill, he spotted a small band of vermin heading east. Itchita smiled. 29 against one, it was hardly fair.

Drawing his bow, he checked each one. The bow creatures he would have to take out first, only six. His bow was a unique one, twice the size of a normal bow, it had three times the pull, easy enough to accomplish for a creature as tall as a badger. Each individual arrow was fire hardened from end to end of the shaft, and was the size of a small sapling. The arrow point was no ordinary making. Forged like a leaf, three tips, it was designed to pierce armor. Crouching to a knee, Itchita pulled one monstrous arrow from his quiver and set it on his claw. He took aim, waiting for a shot. Why waste six arrows if you can get the job done in two. He waited. And waited. There, the shot was there, and then all chaos broke out amongst the vermin band.

* * *

"Damn. Got stuck on patrol duty again," Ripsa, a ferret captain in Ackbain's horde, muttered.

"Dun worry bout nutin. Least we dun got to do anytin else roight? I mean, at least we dun gotta fight nun no more," an idiot rat commented.

"Shut yer trap fool. We have more work to do than the rest of the horde, because we dun got numbers anymore," Ripsa said, whirling on the rat who had made a comment, only to find a single spear of an arrow running through the rat, and two more vermin binding them to the ground.

"Bowbeasts! Rally to me! Shield bearers, give me a phalanx position!" Ripsa barked. He was a seasoned officer, and was not one to panic quickly. Just as the band slowly moved into a ready position, a thunderbolt like arrow took out the three remaining bowbeasts. Damn, Ackbain was a fool for not giving us a larger force.

"Anyone who can draw a bow. Get the dead one's weapons and get behind the shield line. Erack, you're my fastest tracker. Locate the sniper and signal his position to us," Ripsa shouted. Another arrow battered the shield wall, knocking another one his beasts back. Just then a bloodcurdling cry ripped through the air.

"Come to death vermin!" Itchita shouted at the top of his lungs. He pulled both of his sabers from their sheaths strapped across his back and charged down the hill with amazing speed.

"A wolf? This far south?" Ripsa gasped.

"Orders sir?" Ripsa's second in command Onere asked.

"Shield bearers in front. Spears between, lock your shields and return the charge," Ripsa ordered. With quick military precision, they formed a charging shield, and rumbled straight toward one very angry wolf. But Itchita had gathered too much momentum for a creature his size to be stopped by a small battering ram of metal. With two swings of his sword, he diced up the two spear points threatening to gut him, and broke the shield line.

"Form a ring. Flank him!" Ripsa barked, unsheathing his own sword and charging into the fray. Itchita however, couldn't be stopped. His blades flashed, separating limbs from their owners. He was a whirlwind of death, and didn't stop until every one of the creatures save two was dead.

Ripsa lay on the ground clutching his arm while it bled freely. Onere was uninjured, but his craven heart failed him, as he looked into the red eyes of the wolf whose only desire was to kill him. Onere trembled; Itchita's eyes were clouded over with bloodlust.

"Please don't kill me!" Onere begged, bowing his head as he pleaded miserably for his life.

"Why," Itchita asked.

"I don't wanna die!" Onere answered. Itchita spat at the trembling beast's feet, with a flash of his sword, Onere would beg no more. Sheathing his blades, Itchita stepped over Onere's carcass and advanced on Ripsa, expecting the same reaction, but was surprised when none came. Ripsa's face was passive.

"Who are you? What is your name and why are you here?" Itchita asked simply.

"My name is Ripsa. I hold the rank of Lesser Captain in Ackbain's horde," Ripsa replied simply, "you answer the same."

"Why should I give my name to a vermin like you?" Itchita asked. This creature was intriguing. Never had he seen a vermin stand up to him, for this Itchita would respect this creature until the end of his days.

"Why are you in this horde," Itchita asked.

"If you're going to kill me get it over with. I don't really care," Ripsa said, "I'm in the Horde because my father was a captain before me. I never wanted to fight, but he insisted I do so. I always felt different from all the other vermin. I don't want to kill, but orders are orders when you're a soldier."

"Why are you here?" Itchita asked again.

"We are an advanced scouting party," Ripsa looked around, "we were an advanced scouting party. Our job was to access the strength of our enemy. Looks like our enemy is pretty strong, being as one wolf killed my entire team."

"You talk a lot for a vermin," Itchita commented.

"That's what my ma told me," Ripsa answered.

"I must admit. I have never met a vermin quite like you," Itchita said, smiling as he rarely smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Ripsa answered, grinning back, "too bad you still have to kill me."

"No. I don't have to. Besides it would be nice to travel with a companion. I will however, have to work hard to get over the fact you are still vermin," Itchita added. Ripsa extended his paw, which Itchita grasped firmly.

"You will find, not all vermin are the way you think we are," Ripsa replied, wincing under Itchita's vice-like grip.

"Perhaps I will. Grab a bow, you'll need it if you plan to fight the way I do," Itchita said, still smiling, the muscles in his face tired after forgetting how to smile for so long, "friend."

"Friend it is," Ripsa answered. He picked up a bow, a quiver of arrows and nodded to Itchita. The two ran off into the distance, leaving behind the carnage of a vengeful wolf, and a vermin deserter.


	3. Garrison of a Thousand

**Chapter 3: The Garrison of a Thousand**

Lance Corporal Jo Sabertache gazed out at the barren hill leading into a ravine that ran across the edge of Mossflower. His keen eyes missed nothing, noting everything that could be of value. After the decisive battle, where the once mighty Rapscallion army tried to take Redwall, the battleground became known as the Ridge of a Thousand. However it was hardly just a battleground anymore. With the growing vermin attacks and presence in the lands surrounding Redwall, Thulnor opted to erect a fortress surrounding the entirety of Redwall's east face.

"Anything Corporal?" Garrison Captain Triva Swiftpaw asked.

"Nuting doin marm," Jo replied, "dunno why o'r good l'rd Thulnor would stick such a blinking large force to g'rd this ridge."

"That doesn't matter. We aren't here to question his orders. Lord Thulnor has been jumpy lately. But I can feel it too, a sinister force approaches this land eh," Triva said. The garrison had been elaborately built. Constructed of the same material as the walls of Redwall, the fortress stretched for leagues on end, surrounding the entire pass, and ending at a rock face that bordered the Mossflower River. The garrison ended there, though there were several encampments within the woods themselves.

"Any word from the squirrel queen?" Triva asked.

"Lady Rudre's got the forest en them covered nice and tite. We dun need worry bout her. She kin take care of he'self," Jo answered, "all in all. No vermin'll set foot in Mossflower w'tout a few arrows in his in'rds to show fer it."

"Keep an eye and an ear out Lance Corporal. Then get your patrol relief. Supper's about ready," Triva said. Jo's eyelids fluttered in rapture.

"Aye. Abbey vittles be the best in tis region," Jo said, his ears twitching just from thinking about victuals.

"Ha. It is the best corporal," Triva commented, "you made no mistake about that and do something about your ridiculous accent."

"Tis not me fault marm. Spent me time learnin to fight, not speak. In battle vermin dun carry a nun if ya talk pretty," Jo smiled. He and Triva were best friends from birth, and she could never resist taking stabs at his accent. But she agreed with Jo, his prowess with his saber and sheath knife were unrivaled, and many a vermin had fallen to him in their ignorance.

* * *

"Mind your manners. You're to respect them as soldiers and your elders. Please watch your step so you don't spill your plate. Make sure you greet everyone of them and Hale Twitch wash your paws!" Jess shouted. Hale almost jumped and dropped his tray, but he regained his poise quickly.

"Yes mum," he answered grimly. He set his tray down slowly and made his way over to the pond to wash his paws. After splashing water over his paws quickly and scrubbing it with bank sand, he walked back picked up his tray, and set it down on the cart that was to serve as the supply carriage for the Salamandastron forces.

"Hur. Diss gon be exsoitin huh maister Hale," Furrow Dipclaw said, his mole accent heavy. Furrow was much different from the other moles, physically as well as mentally. Whereas most moles inside Redwall were fond of digging being as they were moles, and tended to be fairly passive. Furrow was a born warrior, and carried the glint in his eyes. Moreover, his difference was evident, as he was twice the size and weight of any other mole in the Abbey, making him a fearsome site.

"Whutchu mean?" Hale asked, cocking an odd glance at his mole friend. Furrow shook his head. He despised having to lower himself to speaking with a mole's accent, being as no one understood him. But when he didn't, everyone just looked at him funny. Luckily Hale took this oddity in his stride.

"What's not to be excited about? We're actually gonna visit the Ridge of a Thousand, guarded by real Long Patrol hares! Mybe they can teach us how to fight!" he shouted excitedly.

"If'n you say so. Don't matter te me, I'm good nuff wit a sword already," Hale shrugged, then winced as Furrow tweaked his ear with a heavy mole claw.

"You nearly took orf me ear wit Martin's sword. If ya ask me. You could use a lotta work," Furrow said, chuckling.

"Hey. Twas an accident. Told yew I was sorry. Can ya hold a grudge," Hale answered, shaking his head.

"Yea. It was an accident. But you wernt the one at risk of bein witout a few inches," Furrow pointed out. Hale sighed, thoroughly exasperated, shaking his head; he simply smiled at his friend's indisputable logic. After making sure everything was in its place, Jess walked over.

"Now remember Hale. Behave yourself," she reminded him.

"Yes ma," Hale nodded, then sitting himself on the back of the wagon, he helped Furrow up before shouting to Rodig to begin moving. Despite his earnest attempt to hide his excitement, he had to admit, he was as excited as Furrow to meet the Long Patrol, maybe even get lessons on how to fight, as it was his dream to become a great warrior.

* * *

Thulnor stood at the very peak of his mountain fortress; his eyes keen and focused as he looked over his protectorate. Now that he had completed his swords, they went with him everywhere, the thick rawhide straps holding the steel sheaths guarding his weapons crossed on his back. He took another whiff of the air, and sighed again. War was now inevitable.

"If'n you'd excuse me sire. But you dun look to happy rite now," Sandsort said, walking beside him.

"Tis nothing Major," Thulnor said, shaking his large muzzle.

"I've known ye all me life. If'n dere'd be a problem I'd know wot," Sandsort chuckled and gave Thulnor a slight nudge. A few moments later he regretted it.

"Impudent young rip! You were the trouble!" Thulnor laughed and nudged Sandsort back, nearly decking him. But like the snow on the ground as the seasons changed from winter to spring, Thulnor's happy demeanor evaporated.

"I know tis not me place to pry. But sire, if there's trouble we will stan' by you. Sire, if there's trouble commin, we need ta be ready," Sandsort pointed out. Thulnor ignored him.

"I once had two brothers. One was named Mjolden, the other Jupitus. My brother's and I were separated, I to rule this mountain, they to help the wolves to the north. However on the way to our seasonal feast at our mountain, they were killed by vermin who stole all their loot and dumped their bodies beneath the ice. These two swords symbolize my two brothers," Thulnor recounted, drawing both the mighty blades.

"I regret the loss of ya brothas sah. But how does that fit wit how youse feelin roight now?" Sandsort asked.

"I had hoped these blades only to be ceremonial. To be used at our seasonal feast to honor them. However these swords will taste the foul taste of blood. Send word to Colonel Harring. I want the garrison at full alert. Have him dispatch a runner to our force at the Ridge of a Thousand to tell them to be on their paws," Thulnor ordered. Sandsort nodded, then stood rigid at attention. He saluted and sprinted off.

* * *

The supper convoy arrived at the Ridge of a Thousand and Hale jumped out the back as though stung in the behind by a bee. Sprinting and almost tripping over a vine he came to a breathless stop in front of the main gate to entire the fortress. Remembering how to get in and the password to do so, he swelled up his lungs with air as he took a great breath. Then yelled in the time honored fashion Long Patrol hares had done for countless seasons.

"Euulllaaallliiiaaaa!!!!!!" he let loose a fearsome roar.

"Who goes there!" the sentry called down.

"Just the supper tray for starving hares!!!!" Hale roared back.

"Well what are you waiting for then lad? Bring in the vittles!!!" the sentry shouted happily. Old friends reunited as they spoke heartily of past seasons while food and drink were passed out to the voracious hares. Hares were known to be reputable eaters, and each one strove to meet their reputation.

"Pass the strawberry cordial young gel!" a veteran with a stump of a left ear shouted down the table.

"Not before I get somat wot!"

"Where's ya respect for your elders eh?"

"Hmmmm. That damson puddin hits the spot."

"More pie ova here!"

"Where's that soup! Oooh! Meadowcream on topa scones!" It was near chaos as each hare tried to out eat the next one all the while they clamored to get as much food on their plates as possible. With such a large force at the Garrison, the food vanished quickly, as though plucked from the plates and disappearing into the very air. Without food to keep them entertained many of the hares went to weaponry contests. Hale watched tentatively as they formed pairs and spared. His eyes flickered in the glinting reflections of swords, sabers, daggers, spear, and weapons of all kinds. Each single shimmer of steel and firelight fueled his desire to learn how to use them and to become the warrior his father once was.

"Lookit that young'un o'vr there. He looks liken he's fit to burst to try out combat," Triva chuckled to Jo. Jo simply nodded. He knew how it felt, and from the first day he gripped a sword he swore to never let it go till the very grip of death took him.

"Mybe we should l'rn him some skills. No telling when we's might need a few warr'rs eh? Solders are solders," he suggested.

"It's soldiers Jo. Soldiers. But why not. Bring the young lad over here," Triva smiled. Hale was a glow with excitement as the iron gripped Lance Corporal led him over the Triva. She eyed him up and down and smiled again at the young squirrel. He was built long and lanky with a wiry frame. From the look in his eyes, he was a warrior born.

"Well young one. What they call you?" Triva asked.

"My name is Hale. Hale Twitch is me name," he answered.

"Have you ever used a sword before?" Triva asked. He smiled sheepishly, aware of the answer.

"Sorta?" he answered.

"Sorta? How do you sorta use a blade?" Triva asked, confused. But she shook her head. Reaching behind her there was a small arms rack. She picked up a slender curved sabre and handed it handle first to Hale. He gripped the handle, feeling the rawhide handle press against his paw.

"Well den me lad. Let us see how yon do wit a blade. On ya g'rd!" Jo rapped. He took up a fighting position. Hale nodded and did the same, Triva taking note of where he placed his footpaws, how he balanced himself. She was amazed at how comfortable he looked gripping the sword with one paw.

"Now. Let's test ya eh?" Jo said, grinning with anticipation. He thought to himself that perhaps he had best only go half speed as to not scare the young squirrel. He lunged, his saber carving a curved downward strike cutting the air and letting forth the swift hiss of steel. Hale quickly parried the downward strike by knocking it sideways with an upward arc, using the momentum of the blade to come around for a mid-strike to the midriff. Jo was amazed at his speed and dexterity but not to be caught off guard he blocked the strike and lunged out with a quick spearing maneuver.

Hale dodged to the right, bring his sword down to force Jo's sword into the ground, before sidestepping and launching an attack from a sideways angle. Jo chuckled, the first mistake of many. Bring his sword back up, he simple made a wide lazy arc in the air to come quivering to a stop just hairs from Hale's neck. Hale was taken aback, unaware the had let up his guard but realized his mistake.

"Not bad young'un. You've dun betta den half the leverets your age. Ya should be proud," Jo said.

"Where did you learn to fight this well?" Triva asked.

"My father taught me," he said hesitantly.

"Well I'd like to meet such bold a warrior who taught you to fight this well," Triva said, chuckling. But her smile vanished at the downcast look on Hale's face. For someone so young, Triva had never seen anyone beast as old as the one before her.

"You can't," he answered simply, looking her dead in the eye without a single tear, "he's dead." There was an uneasy silence when someone called over to Triva. A watch guard overlooking the west side.

"Captain Triva marm! We've got some activity ova here!" the hare shouted. Triva nodded to Jo who dashed off first. Then she turned back to the stone-faced squirrel.

"I'm sorry we need to cut our lesson short. You understand right?" she asked, a gentle smile on her pleasant features.

"Yes marm," he answered, then his face brightened, "go get em."


	4. The Fleet

**Chapter 4: The Fleet**

Ackbain stood at the prow of his ice-laden ship the Storm Weaver. He gazed at the frozen landscape, paw on the basket of his unusually long Katana. Grasping the handle of the blade he unsheathed it. The sword was twice as long as usual, with a heavy pommel stone to make up for the weight indifference. Perfectly balanced, the sword curved slightly and was honed to a perfect edge on one side. The sword was heavy, but with the extra weight brought strength enough to slice through anything.

"My lord. The fleets are prepared. We must sale south quickly before this next storm comes in," Hans said.

"I know old friend," Ackbain answered, sheathing his sword quickly.

"Orders?"

"Get us underway," Ackbain nodded. Hans turned and began shouting orders.

"You heard the lord! Get the mainsails up. Free the anchor. Helmsman take us due south," Hans roared. The huge fleet slowly moved like one colossal force.

"The wind is good mi'lord," a rat said, running beside Ackbain, holding a jacket for him to wear. Ackbain turned and smiled at the little creature. Patting its head and nearly knocking him flat he turned his eyes to his ship.

"I have a coat already Fleze. But thank you nonetheless," he said. Fleze nodded. This was the first leader he had ever liked, a true warrior at heart unlike his former warlords who were harsh and cared for the spoils. Ackbain lived for the honor of battle and respected all in his command.

* * *

"We head south to the sun, and to Isa," he whispered.

Ripsa was panting, his stoat legs not meant for such type of travel. He leaned against his bow for support as the sun beat down on his back. He shook his head at the chuckling Itchita who was only breathing lightly after a run up the mountain.

"What's the matter?" Itchita asked.

"Alas. I was not meant fer this type of trackin," he managed to gasp.

"It's good for you," Itchita said.

"Speak for yerself," Ripsa said, shaking his head. He grabbed for a pouch of water when Itchita threw him down roughly, his paw on Ripsa's chest holding him down.

"Wut the," Ripsa began to shout, when Itchita's paw grasped Ripsa's muzzle, holding it shut. He looked at his friend; his eyes had lost their mirth, returning to the icy cold focused gray that Ripsa remembered all too well. Itchita slowly released Ripsa, and pointed down the mountainside towards a small ravine several hundred yards away. Ripsa rolled onto his stomach lying flat and saw what Itchita was pointing at. A large vermin patrol, heading west.

"They're moving fast," Itchita said softly.

"Aye they are. That's Toura's patrol, he's a Higher Captain, and one of Ackbain's favored," Ripsa commented. However at the mention of Ackbain, Itchita stiffened, his eyes puzzled.

"Ackbain," he whispered, trying to recall why the name was so familiar. But now was not the time to worry about such trivial details and he shook his head, waving the matter off.

"Are we going to take them?" Rips asked, his paw straying toward his bow.

"Not yet matey. Watch me first," Itchita said. He unshouldered the great bow strapped to his back and began to select an arrow, each one almost as tall as Ripsa. Setting on the bowstring and his claw he sighted down the shaft, waiting for his shaft. His ears flicked, testing the air.

"Whutchu waiting for?" Ripsa asked interested.

"The way I took you patrol down so quickly, is I destroyed their capability to hit back. Archers down first, so I can get in close enough for a blade," Itchita answered. When he found his shot, he let loose the shaft that thundered toward the unsuspecting patrol. Ripsa understood now how his squad had fallen so quickly. Itchita could shoot with pinpoint accuracy, three vermin, wiped out by a single arrow. In quick succession Itchita let loose another four arrows. Ripsa not wanting to be left out of the action selected an arrow from his own quiver and let fly.

"Ow, my ars!" could be heard from the valley. The voice was silenced a moment later, two of Ripsa's arrows protruding from the vermin's chest. Itchita nodded, all the bow beasts slain, leaving 30 vermin left, 15 to 1.

"How many can you take?" Itchita asked, unsheathing his swords.

"7, 8 if I'm lucky," Ripsa replied grimly. Itchita smiled.

"Only?" he asked.

"Easy fer you to say," Ripsa muttered.

"Not to worry, we'll be fine," Itchita answered, then he broke the small outcropping that provided them cover and scrambled down the mountainside, charging toward the disorganized squad. Ripsa sighed, there's a wolf for you. He took out his own machete type knife, and a short sword and followed after the crazed beast.

Itchita slammed into the patrol, expecting the leader to be seasoned and call his command into a phalanx like Ripsa but no such order came. The leader turned tail and ran. No matter though, Itchita thought, there were enough creatures to be sent to Dark Forest in front of him.

Ripsa saw Toura turn tail and run. Sheathing his blades quickly, he selected two arrows, and notched them on his bow. Turning his bow to the side, he lined the arrows and sighted in between them, aiming for Toura's legs. He waited, looking for his shot, adjusting his aim to match the wind.

Toura was relieved he wasn't being chased, and slowed down slightly, his head turned as his patrol was slaughtered by a single wolf, who hacked, slashed, and bit his way through the vermin that threatened to overwhelm him just be shear numbers. However he didn't catch site of Ripsa till it was too late. Ripsa fired both of the arrows; they screamed for Toura, whistling in the air, one thudding deep into Toura's right hind leg, the other into his side. Without so much as a second's delay, Ripsa notched another three arrows, and sent them into the back of a weasel trying to sneak up on Itchita from behind. Two more shots into the back of a rat finished the remainder of the squad.

"Where their leader go," Itchita raged, his head turning to and fro as he tried to find him amongst the vermin corpses.

"No need to worry mate. I got him while he was tryin to run 'way. He's over there," Ripsa answered, walking amongst the dead vermin and foraging for arrows. Itchita nodded, walking in the direction Ripsa had pointed out.

Toura's paws gripped the arrows as he tried to summon the courage to pull them out of his leg and back, but he was a coward at heart, and could not do it himself. He whimpered fearfully, looking in the direction of the wolf that was slowly approaching him.

Itchita looked down on the vermin, noticing the tattoo on his arm and muzzle. Ripsa made his way over having taken all the supplies that were available and packing them in his bag, he looked at Toura who looked fit to cry at the sight of the wolf who was about to dispatch him.

"Ripsa! Help me old friend! Tell the wolf to spare me please!" Toura begged. Ripsa spat at the vermin, he had never liked him. Toura had bullied Ripsa since he was but a babe, and had always spoken ill of his subordinate.

"The three marks on his muzzle denote his rank," Ripsa ignored Toura and began to explain The Horde's ranking system, "three tipped marks means higher captain. I only have one meaning lesser captain. Eh Toura. Looks like you got'ya self promoted. Three slashes and a claw mark along your eye?"

"Claw? What does the Claw mean?"

"Elite Captain. One of few close enough to Ackbain to attain this rank. This is reserved only for his elite guard," Ripsa answered, "what is scum like you doing in Ackbain's elite guard."

"Where is your leader heading?" Itchita asked, his voice unusually calm and controlled.

"I don't know! I'm just wit da scoutin' party. We was told to scout out da Wall of a Thousand. I don't know! Please sah I beg you. Sp're me!" he pleaded. Itchita didn't say anything. He simple stared out into the distance. Then suddenly he stepped over the vermin and helped him up.

"You're free. Leave before I change my mind," he said simply. Toura could scarcely believe his ears. Never in all his lifetime had a wolf ever spared their enemy. They were cold and calculative, numbers pitted against numbers. Their only job was to make sure they took as many enemies before their enemy destroyed them. Toura limped off into the distance, choosing to take a path that had the most cover.

"What are you doing?" Ripsa demanded, "If he goes free who knows what kinda information he might have had!"

"He was not worth my effort," Itchita answered simply.

"Do you know how many helpless families he has slain? How many more he will kill by you settin' him free?" Ripsa shouted. Never in his life had he seen such mercy for a creature that did not deserve it.

"I have seen more than you know," Itchita answered, his voice cold.

"And I have seen soldiers under my own command slaughter entire villages for their pleasure. Take little ones no more than a few seasons old as slaves. That creature does not deserve to live," Ripsa growled. Itchita said nothing. He no longer cared about killing vermin. He was focused intently on the single word that reverberated in his mind. Ackbain. He couldn't quite grasp _why_ it was so familiar yet distant. Ripsa was furious. He could still see Toura. If Itchita wouldn't finish the job he would. Licking a claw to test the wind, he strung his bow and notched an arrow.

"If you can't do it I will. The Horde has nearly 80,000 strong. Every kill we have makes a difference," Ripsa said to the still silent Itchita. He launched two arrows in a split second. Toura fell, not even knowing what hit him; he was dead before he hit the floor, two arrows lodged in his neck.

* * *

"Isa! Our ship won't hold out for long in this storm! We'd best go for land!" Grae shouted. Their vessel, the Triumphant was of an odd architecture. Instead of one hull she had two, with a spit down the middle. Perfectly symmetrical, she was powered with only two sails on either side. With both hulls connected straight down the middle of the ship, the Triumphant could hold 100 some crewbeasts with still more room to spare. Most ships sailed, the Triumphant flew.

"She'll hold. We'll reach Salamandastron's beaches soon. Yuta. Pull us closer to shore. Hug the coast!" Isa ordered. The Triumphant made a sharp turn and powered toward the coast, straightening her course after a quarter mile inland. The waves beat against the ships side, threatening to sink her.

"Isa! We're pumping out water in the ballasts. She's at three paw lengths. She'll hold out for maybe another two hours if'n we're lucky ma'arm," Urukja reported.

"How is the other ship holding up?" Isa asked.

"They're a little worsen off den us. They landed ma'arm, not a couple miles down from our current pos'tion," Grae reported.

"We make for land then. A pack never separates," Isa ordered. Her crew cheered in relief, as the ship turned. She signaled to Grae to delegate a helmsman to replace him, and summoned her leaders to her personal cabin. The Triumphant made her way to shore, where she sailed a little further to find her sister ship, Crusader moored in a cove sheltered by mountains on either side.

"Isa I mean no disrespect. But I believe it better we stay here a few days before we set out," Grae suggested.

"Aye. The storm is too harsh to sale in this weather. Prithee, not that I dun mind the winds and the salt'n'water a splashin' ev'ywhere. We need time to'make o'r repairs and take 'n more supplies," Isa's navigator, Oltani suggested.

"If it is necessary," Isa sighed, "however once repairs are complete we head to Salamandastron. Once we arrive there I want a small group to stay there. Grae, Urukja you are to chose your warriors. The mountain warriors are going to need your help and advice. Grae you stay for two moons before leaving and heading into the northern forests and get the help of the Wind Guards," Isa said.

"Aye," was all that was said. In the silence that followed as Oltani pointed out their position, the winds outside the cove howled as loud as ever. With no respite and the storm to stay for a couple days, Isa was glad she had chosen to land. Little did she know, that Ackbain's scout ship had pasted not half a day before she landed, with the remainder of his fleet following closely.

* * *

Author's Note: ARGHHHHHHHHCOLLEGE APPS!!! Sorry I couldn't update but here it is. Chapter 4. Enjoy!


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